


Friends and Shadows

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26382217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by Orondo BrandybuckFrodo's friends plan their "Conspiracy" after learning that he's leaving the Shire.
Kudos: 1
Collections: Least Expected





	Friends and Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Author's Website:  
> Category: Drama  
> Pairing:  
> Warnings: None  
> Rating: PG  
> Summary: Frodo's friends plan their "Conspiracy" after learning that he's leaving the Shire.  
> Disclaimer: I make no money from this literature, and intend no infringement. The characters and the land they inhabit belong -- as we reckon property -- to The Professor. But, as Simonne d'Ardenne once asked him, "You broke the veil, didn't you, and passed through?"  
> Feedback: !!Feedback!!  
> Story Notes: Please comment!

The story is set in April, S.R. 1418, a few days after Gandalf unexpectedly visited Frodo and recounted the tale told in The Shadow of the Past. Merry has just arrived at the Great Smials to visit Pippin, who is, however, visiting Sam in Hobbiton.

"More tea, master Merry?" asked Beauregard, balancing an elegant silver teapot upon an equally elegant silver tray.

"Yes, please! And some more scones and another blanket if I may. It's awfully cold in here." Beauregard nodded, filled Merrys teacup close to (but not over) the brim, and left the room.

"Perhaps its better that Pippin isnt here. I wouldnt want him to catch this chill," thought Merry. "And anyway I dont feel at all like talking. Id rather sleep!" He looked dreamily at the fire, which Beauregard had laid only a few minutes before. Already it was shining brightly and, more importantly, it was warm.

"Your wish is granted," said Beauregard, bustling into the little room with another tray heaped with Merrys favorite scones and a thick wool blanket over each shoulder. "It wouldnt do for Pippins best friend (and mine) to be ill when he returns," he added, grinning. He laid the tray on the bedside table, spread one of the blankets over Merry, and stroked his back for a few moments. "Just call if you need anything. Ill be down the hall," he said, quietly closing the door.

Merry was already dreaming when Beauregard left. He seemed to be climbing a steep, snowy path, just behind Pippin. A ways ahead there were some other people, and a man with a staff could it be Gandalf? led the group. As evening darkened into night, a storm came on, and they huddled together under a cliff near a little fire. Frodo and Sam were there, and they were clustered around Pippin, hugging him tightly: Frodo on his left and Sam on his right. Pippins face was pale and strained, and his brow hot. He was shivering, his eyes bright with fear.

Merry woke with a start. His throat hurt. Just as he realized where he was, the door flew open, and Beauregard rushed in, a candle in his hand. "Master Merry! Whats wrong?" he asked anxiously, padding quickly to Merrys bedside.

"Nothing, nothing," Merry croaked, his eyes bleary. "Only a nightmare." he added.

"Well, it woke me, too," said Beauregard, "Or leastways I thought I heard you call. Would you like me to sit up with you awhile?" he asked.

Merry took a few deep breaths, coughing a little. "No, no, Im alright, Bur." he said. "Go back to sleep."

Beauregard gazed at Merry for a moment, curiously, but he had closed his eyes. He stroked his forehead it seemed warmer than usual and quietly left.

"Well, I don't know about Lobelia, but to tell you the truth, I haven't given much mind to it. It's Mr. Frodo I'm worried about." said Sam.

"How's that?" asked Pippin, nibbling one of Sams seed-cakes.

"Well, Mr. Gandalf arrived a few days ago, and...." began Sam.

"Gandalf? Gandalf! You mean the wizard? He hasnt been by in years, not since I was a lad!" Pippin interrupted, his curiosity aroused.

Sam waited patiently, then continued. "And Mr. Frodo has been talking with him day and night since then. And oh! Mr. Pippin, the things theyve been saying! Of course I dont understand it all aright, but...but, I know one thing for sure:" Sams face became grave and sad, and he paused.

"And that is?" urged Pippin, leaning forward in anticipation.

Sam eyes glistened, and his lip quivered slightly as he stammered out, "Mr. Frodos leaving! "

"Leaving!", Pippin sat bolt upright, an expression of shock on his face. "Sam, you cant have heard it right. There must be a mistake!" he exclaimed.

"Oh I heard it a-right, Mr. Pippin, just plain as plain could be. Mr. Frodo said, I ought to leave Bag End, leave the Shire, leave everything and go away. And Gandalf agreed, saying, I am afraid you are right, and for your sake, as well as for others, you will have to go, and leave the name of Baggins behind you."

"But why?" asked Pippin, concerned. "What possibly could have happened to convince Frodo to leave? Surely not Lobelia."

Sam sighed. "No, its not Lobelia, much as shed like to see it. It has something to do with what Mr. Frodo and Mr. Gandalf talked about, with the things I dont rightly understand. Now Mr. Pippin, Mr. Peregrin Took, I should say," Sam blushed slightly, "Im going to tell you some things that maybe I shouldnt. But first I want you to swear," he paused, looking hard at Pippin, "that youll let no one know about this. And I mean no one, not even Merry, and not even should he hold you upside-down by your toes and shake you!"

"I, I dont understand," said Pippin, puzzled. "Whats this all about?"

"Your pledge." said Sam, offering his hand. Pippin hesitated, then reached out to grasp it firmly, looking full into Sams eyes.

"I swear. Ill tell no one." he said, his face showing no hint of his usual mischievous smile. Sam returned his grip. They looked at one another for a moment, the air tense. Then Sams determined look dissolved into one of relief. He let go Pippins hand and pulled him close.

The weather was gloomy at Bag End. While the previous week had been warm and sunny, the last few days had turned cool, if not positively cold, and there had been considerable rain. Frodo and Gandalf were sitting by the drawingroom fire, and the wizard was deep in thought, staring into the flames, much as Frodo had done a few days before.

"Gandalf?" asked Frodo. The wizard took another draught from his pipe, but did not respond. Frodo felt sad and rootless and confused, and still wondered why he had been chosen (if "chosen" is the correct term) to bear the Ring. "Gandalf?" he repeated.

The wizard gradually surfaced from his thoughts. "Eh, Frodo? I was trying to recall something. But no matter. What did you want?" he asked.

Frodo looked at the wizard gratefully, then began, "You must be tired of my questions, but I still dont understand why I should be the one to take on this burden." Gandalfs expression became grave. Frodo continued, "How could a simple hobbit destroy the Ring, or, or even hide it from the Enemy for long? And, for that matter, why cannot you take the Ring? How are you so certain It would possess you if you were to keep It, or, or even if you were to use It?"

"Dear, dear Frodo," Gandalf said, "Neither I, nor, I guess, anyone else, can fully answer your first question. Somehow Bilbo, and through him yourself, have become entangled in the great deeds of this age. I had some part in that (through the quest of Smaug), but, of course, I did not know that Bilbo would find the Ring, nor even that It yet existed. All I knew was that, somehow, the quest would have failed had Bilbo not gone on it. Whence came that knowledge, or feeling ", he paused, considering, "I do not know. It is the nature of the world that wizards (and even sometimes hobbits) have premonitions." The wizard drew once more on his pipe. "But Frodo, " he concluded, his face brightening, "Whatever you must do, I will always help you."

"Thank you, Gandalf. But I feel so weak and so afraid. You are much stronger and wiser than I. Why cannot you take the Ring?" asked Frodo.

The wizard laughed, his eyes sparkling, "I should have known that you, of all people, would not have been satisfied with my earlier answer." He paused, puffing once more on his pipe. His smile faded and his eyes became sad. "Oh Frodo," he continued, "The Ring is far more powerful, and craftier, than you guess. See, It looks to be only a little ring of gold, a thing, having no more sense than this table." Gandalf ran a hand over its smooth oaken grain. "But It is far more than that, as Gollum (and, to a lesser extent, Bilbo after him) found out. When the Dark Lord made It, Frodo, He poured into It much of his strength, his guile, his will, and his spirit. It is not merely an object. It is a living thing, a being with desires and a fierce will: the Dark Lords will.

"Earlier we spoke of Sauron, the Dark Lord, but you do not guess His strength. He is not like a hobbit, or a Man, or even an Elf-lord; He is of a wholly different order of being. Indeed He is most closely akin to the Valar, the Lords of the West, and has powers and abilities little less than theirs."

"The Lords of the West?" whispered Frodo, a slight tremor in his voice. "You cannot mean..." he stopped, unable to finish the sentence, and looked up at Gandalf, his eyes wide.

"Yes, Frodo." said Gandalf.

"But how can I challenge, dare to challenge, think to challenge one like like Elbereth?" Frodo whispered. "And how would you not be more equal to the task than I?" he said, recovering his wits.

"Frodo, the Ring does not affect everyone equally. As I mentioned before, to one who would wield It, It gives power according to his measure. To you, an unassuming hobbit, the power would be small, and to me, a wizard, it would be great indeed. But you did not speak of wielding, only of keeping, yet the effect is similar. To the small (at least to those also of good purpose) Its temptation is small, and Its effect slow. To the great, Its temptation also is great, and It acts quickly. Listen to this, written by Meneldil, mere weeks after his Uncle Isildur came to possess the Ring!"

As I write a sense of great foreboding is on me. Never before have I been given to worry, being glad of heart and happy to enjoy each new days tasks and small pleasures. Yet now, in the span of but a few moments, all has changed.

Today Isildur and I, as often has been our wont, fell to a friendly sparring match. We are well-matched with the blade, and enjoy the craft, though neither of us is a swords-master. A particularly good bout we had, each pressing the other hard. Late in the match I gained the advantage, through, it seemed, an extraordinary stroke of luck, or of unexpected skill: somehow I knew exactly where and how to strike, as would a true swords-master. Swiftly I disarmed my uncle, his sword flying from his hand and a look of shock on his face. Dropping my sword, I moved to embrace him.

Next I knew I was flat on my back, Isildur wielding my own weapon, its point at my throat. His eyes blazed in a way I had not known before. He hissed through clenched teeth, Down, thief! Thou shalt not have it. Disobey me in this, and surely I will slay thee!" As if to emphasize his words, he dented my throat with the sword-point, and, in fear and amazement, I swooned.

I woke to silence, staring upward into a tree, its leaves quivering in the breeze. Isildur had departed, and my sword lay upon the ground, its point near to my shoulder. It felt hard to breathe, and I put my hand to my throat. It came away scarlet.

Frodo listened, enthralled. When Gandalf finished, they looked at one another for a long moment, Frodo in puzzlement, Gandalf, it seemed, in pity. Then the wizard looked away, into the fire, and said, "There is more, in which Meneldil describes Isildurs increasingly strange behavior and the yawning chasm that had opened between the two who before had been so close. Then there is this, written by Isildur himself, also not long after he had taken the Ring:"

For me the world can never be as it was aforetime. The Shadow is destroyed, and Middle-Earth is now free. Yet father, how I miss you! How shall I rule? Whom shall guide me? All seems wrong without you. Yet perhaps all would seem wrong were you with me. Whispers it seems I hear: faint, too faint for understanding, yet devastatingly clear: like to the crackle of a leaf held close to the ear, or to the screech of the hawk cleaving the empty sky. Do you call me? Yet it seems not your voice, but something other, something calling me to do I know not what.

"Something other indeed," said Gandalf. "Would that Isildur had confided more in Elrond! Had he done so, much pain and fear might have been averted. Yet Elrond was too forceful, too eager, so perhaps it is no great wonder that Isildur did not seek his counsel."

Frodo eyed Gandalf curiously. "I don't understand," he said. 


End file.
